


The In Haus Baker

by Dexthecryptid (Godtie)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bitty never joined the team, M/M, Slow Burn, same with characters etc, will add tags as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godtie/pseuds/Dexthecryptid
Summary: Prompt: ok but for those 5 word prompts- all I want is a world where any one of the team never joined, but goes to a kegster, resulting in an early morning, "the fuck? who are you?" (via @how-do-i-even-life)
In which Eric Bittle never joined the Samwell Men's Hockey Team but still found himself entangled in their affairs.





	1. In Which Eric Bittle Makes Breakfast

“The fuck? Who are you?”

The question rings out across the kitchen and it takes Eric a few moments to register them. He turns towards the voice before promptly turning away, absolutely sure his face has gone up in flames. “Why are you naked?!” He asks, his voice bordering on falsetto. 

“Because it’s my fucking Haus brah, and clothes fucking suck. My question still stands though.” 

Eric is pretty sure he hears the man sit down at the table, so he risks a glance over his shoulder. He can’t see anything past his stomach. Alright. He turns around properly, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “I’m Eric. I came to the party last night and accidentally crashed here, thankfully not on that god awful green couch in the living room.” He kind of wants to wince at how strong his accent is showing through, but he’s only had half a cup of coffee thats only half decent to begin with, and the man doesn’t seem to be phased. “And well, since y’all didn’t kick me out or anything, I thought the least I could do would be to make you breakfast. I have some bacon already done and the pancakes are getting there. I won’t lie though, I did have to run back to my dorm to grab a few supplies. Well. Most of the supplies. And I stopped by the convenience store to grab a few other things. This house really doesn’t have much of anything in terms of baking, does it?” He let’s out an awkward laugh. Solid first impression, Dicky. Commandeer a frat kitchen with your own supplies without asking anyone that lives there. “Oh lord, I’m rambling. Um. I hope it’s okay that I’m doing this, though. I’ll be sure to take all of my things with me. Would you like some coffee?”

Eric is already reaching for a fresh mug by the time the man answers. “Yeah, definitely. Eric, right?”

Eric nods as he pours. “Do you take anything in your coffee?”

“Two sugars. So do you do this… often?”

Eric laughs, less awkward this time, as he stirs the sugar in. “Oh, lord. If you mean baking or cooking, then yes, all the time.” He brings the mug over to the man, who has a mustache Eric notes, pointedly not looking any lower than his jaw. “If you mean making breakfast for a frat house the morning after a party I went to, I’d have to say this would be the first time. Well, it’s not like I would have had the chance to otherwise. First college party, and all.”

“You a freshman?” Eric hums and nods in response, retuning to tend to the pancakes. “And you said you brought most of this stuff. Do you just keep it in your dorm?”

“Yup.” He pops the “p,” checking the underside of a pancake before flipping it. “I’ve been baking in the dorm kitchen, but it’s inconveniently closed past 11. Lord knows I’d be up all night baking if I was able to, though. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to even have a kitchen. I just wish I had one that I knew would be free when I needed it. And oh, the oven doesn’t heat evenly, so my pies have been coming out so subpar.” He sighs, turning the pan’s handle to the side before stepping away to reach for his coffee. “But, I’m playing with the cards I’ve been dealt. And if that means unevenly baked pie crusts for a year, then so be it.”

“You bake pie?”

Eric hums around the rim of his mug. “Yep! Georgia Country Fair winner right here. I bake the best pie’s you’ll have ever eaten, I guarantee. Or, well, when I have access to an oven that works properly they’re the best. I’ve been considering seeing if the school could have it fixed or not-“

The noise of the front door opening cuts Eric off as the two in the kitchen turn their heads to see who just entered. The man stops in the doorway of the kitchen, looking caught off guard with seeing a new person there. He looks at Eric for a long few moments before looking at the man with the mustache. Eric consciously leans against the counter and takes a sip of his coffee because lord, he’s built like a god and has the cheekbones to match. His shirt is stained with sweat and he’s still breathing heavily from, what Eric is assuming, his run. 

“Jack!” Mustache Man exclaims, throwing an arm towards him before pointing it towards Eric. “This is Eric. He’s making us breakfast.”

Jack looks at Eric, not nodding or saying hello or anything, before looking back at Mustache Man. He mumbles out, “Shitty, put on some clothes,” and then he’s gone, disappearing with the sound of feet ascending stairs. 

Eric furrows his brows. “Shitty?” He questions, smoothing his thumb over the side of his mug. 

He receives a grin in return. “Yup. That’s my hockey nickname.”

“What’s your real name?”

“B. Knight.”

“… What does the “B” stand for?”

They’re interrupted again by the sound of two pairs of feet practically stomping down the stairs and bursting into the kitchen.

“Jack said breakfast is being made-“

“Oh fuck that smells so good-“

“Holy shit is that coffee?”

“Are you a frog? Did we just like, not acknowledge you at practice? Because if so I’m sorry and this is SO totally worthy of going towards dibs.”

“Nah, bro, he’s not a frog. He uh,” The insanely attractive black man pauses, looking Eric up and down. “I don’t think I have you friended on Facebook. Freshman?”

Eric nods, getting out of the way of the taller blond man. “Yep. Freshman.”

“What’s your name?” He asks, nudging the blond man out of the way, who just hands a mug of coffee to him instead of moving. 

“Eric. Uh. Eric Bittle.”

“You gotta accept my friend request, okay? I’m Justin. Also thanks for breakfast bro. It smells so good.”

“Ransom, get the milk.” 

Justin, or Ransom, moves away from chatting with Eric then, tapping on his phone as he retrieves the milk from the fridge for the taller man. Eric feels his phone vibrate a few moments later, and he assumes it’s the friend request. He can deal with that later. 

Finally he nudges the two men out of his way to finish up the pancakes, and they sit down to talk with Shitty about the party of the night before, or as they are calling it, the “kegster.” As Eric is plating everything to bring to the table, Jack returns with another man. The man makes a b-line for the coffee and gives Eric a smile. 

“Sup, Eric. Thanks for breakfast.” He winks before sitting down, and Eric is confused. He doesn’t think he’s met this man before. Maybe Jack told him? The interaction felt like it was… more than that. He shrugs it off, though, and instead focuses on bringing the food to the table.

It’s met with jubilance and compliments, one of the boys retrieving the maple syrup so they can enjoy the pancakes thoroughly. While they eat, Eric is properly introduced to the team. There’s Jack, the captain, Shitty, a forward, Ransom and Holster, d-men, and Johnson, a goalie. Bitty wows them with his own hockey knowledge, explaining to them that he played in high school, but decided against continuing in college. He vaguely explains his reasoning, leaving it only at NCAA hockey being a contact sport where his high school team had no checking.

Shitty brought up Bitty’s kitchen situation again, which got him on another rant. “… But as I was saying to Shitty, I’m playing with the cards I’ve been dealt. I just wish I had a kitchen I could use whenever I wanted. Or at least an accessible and working oven. I don’t want to have to give up my baking just because I don’t have the equipment.”

Johnson sets down his mug and leans his elbows on the table. “Why don’t you use ours?”

Eric startles slightly at the suggestion. “What? Oh, well, I could never. I don’t want to be bursting in here at any given hour and bothering y’all. My baking times can be a little… unconventional. Especially when I’m stressed about school.”

Shitty shrugs. “I mean, as long as we get some of the shit you make, I don’t see why it would be a problem. You seem like a chill dude, and I want to try at least one of your famous pies.” The other boys nod, aside from Jack.

Eric laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, if you let me bake here you’d be getting well over one pie. Are you sure that would be alright? I don’t want to intrude on your team and schedule.”

Ransom shrugs this time. “The only time you probably wouldn’t be able to bake here is when we’re on roadies and we have to lock up. Other than that the door is usually open, and our schedules are really only early morning practice and then games at night.” Holster nods in agreement, shoving a very large forkful of pancake into his mouth.

Eric fidgets in his seat. “I mean. Only if y’all are absolutely sure. And you can kick me out at any time, unless I already have a pie in the oven, or I guess as long as you took the pie out and let it cool when the timer went off. Oh, and if you want, I could make dinner for y’all sometimes as repayment for letting me use the kitchen! I can do healthy meals on top of unhealthy pastries, I promise. Are y’all sure though?”

Shitty lets out a loud laugh before pounding a hand over Eric’s shoulder, making him flinch slightly. “Yes we’re sure! Quit asking, we’re positive you can use the Haus kitchen for baking, any time you want. Just give us your number so you can text us when you’re coming over.”

They exchange numbers, to Eric’s surprise including Jack’s. The captain of the team hadn’t talked much if at all during breakfast, and quietly excused himself directly after the exchange. Eric watches him go wondering if he was just standoffish or if it was Eric himself. He was quickly pulled from his thoughts when Shitty suggests making a group chat so Eric didn’t have to text everyone separately if he wanted to come over. It was created, titled “Let Eric Make Pie 2k13” with the added shortcake emoji since “it’s the closest we’ll be able to get, brah.”

Eric makes them promise that this isn’t a set in stone pact; that he would let them taste the food he makes before they agree to let him use their kitchen whenever he wanted. He didn’t want to take advantage of them if they didn’t actually want him there. That isn’t to say Eric isn’t confident in his skills in the kitchen, quite the opposite actually. He just doesn’t want to intrude on their lives.

Eric leaves the house, or Haus, with a sense of surreality surrounding him. Had he really just made an agreement with a frat house to supply them with baked goods and other food in exchange for use of their kitchen? They let him keep some of his supplies there, but he took most of them back, leaving only things he had duplicates of just in case. He smiles to himself as he crosses one of the bridges as the phrase “pastry prostitute” crosses his mind. Of course it’s not like that at all, but he would do close to anything to get a kitchen to use whenever he wanted. Well, maybe not anything. But a lot of things. Bittles don’t give up when it comes to baking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Original post of the first chapter (sans a few paragraphs) here.](http://dexthecryptid.tumblr.com/post/151907771331/ok-but-for-those-5-word-prompts-all-i-want-is-a)
> 
> Gosh, when I posted the first chapter on tumblr I wasn't expecting such a warm reception! First of all thank you to [how-do-i-even-life](http://how-do-i-even-life.tumblr.com/) for sending in the prompt in the first place, and waiting for literally two months for me to fill it. Without your prompt I wouldn't have thought to write this! <3
> 
> After asking tumblr if they'd rather have chapter installments or the whole fic at once, there was an overwhelming pull for chapters. I'm in the middle of the second one right now, and if I continue with the pace I'm at, it should be out soon! Please make sure to give kudos and comments if you like this because I've always been terrible with writing long fics, but if you show me you want more I'm sure I'll be more motivated to do so!
> 
> I have a general idea on where I want this to go. Of course it will include Jack and Bitty. But that will come later, just as it did in the comic.
> 
> In the next installment: Does Eric Bittle Is Pie?
> 
> Want to send me a prompt, talk about this fic, or chat with me in general? Find me at [Dexthecryptid](http://dexthecryptid.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	2. In Which Eric Bittle Bakes a Pie

It takes about a week for Eric to get back to the Haus. The group chat is silent save the few texts from the first day, and he’s anxious to break that. He knows hey said otherwise, but he feels like he’s intruding. It’s possible they were just being nice, that they were just musing his ideas. Even though the idea of him using their kitchen hadn’t been his. And they had insisted that it was alright. And exchanged numbers. And told him to drop by any time.

He rubs his eyes as he tries to study in the library. He knows he’s being ridiculous. He knows he’s overthinking it. But his southern upbringing makes him feel like he’s intruding even though he hasn’t talked to or seen any of them in a week. Just thinking of using someone else’s kitchen makes him feel like he needs to make it up to them somehow. He groans and lets his head drop to the table. He just won’t text them. The student dorm oven isn’t great, but he can handle it. There’s no promise the oven in the Haus would be any better, anyway. It IS an appliance in a frat house. Theres no telling how well it works.

He sighs into his book before picking his head back up. He really does need to finish this reading for his english class. But as he picks his head up, the figure of a very tall blond man catches his attention as he moves towards Eric with a smile. Holster, right? Or maybe Ransom? Eric has been getting them mixed up in his head for the past week. Holster (probably?) smiles and sits down next to him, two coffees in hand.

“Sup, bro. I’m bringing Ransom-“ so it IS Holster “-some pick me up coffee; he has a quiz in a few days. How’ve you been?” He talking in a hushed voice which is albeit louder than a normal person’s, but Eric can tell he’s trying.

Eric isn’t completely sure why Holster is being so kind to him, sitting down with him to chat even though he’s obviously doing something and all, but it’s nice. “I’ve been alright. School work is starting to really kick into gear. Ransom has a quiz already?”

Holster rolls his eyes and nods. “Yeah, one of his profs is a real dickhead and gives a quiz like, every week. I tried to convince him to drop the class but it was the only section that wasn’t mandatory attendance.”

Eric nods, fidgeting with his pen. “Oh gosh, excuse me, I totally forgot to ask how you are!”

Holster smiles. “I’m alright dude. Classes are alright and practice is kicking my ass but this year looks good for the team.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee. “Have you been too busy to drop by the Haus and bake? We all thought you were gonna jump on the opportunity.”

Eric smiles bashfully. “Oh, well, I have had some time actually. I just felt like I was intruding on your space.”

Holster smiles and lets out a laugh, quickly quieting down when he realizes where he is. “Bro, no. We weren’t just being nice. The kitchen barely gets used as it is. If it helps, we all talked about it after and decided it would be good to have some more home cooked meals like you offered. Of course, if you’re still up for it. We don’t wanna pressure you if you don’t want to.”

Eric smiles and places a hand on Holster’s arm before quickly removing it, unsure if that level of intimacy is acceptable or not. “Oh, you could never pressure me into cooking, Holster. If anything you’d have to pressure me to stop cooking.”

Holster gives him a toothy grin. “Well good, because we’re all growing D1 athletes that eat everything in sight. Are you free today?” He seems to remember where they are and looks down at Eric’s books. “Well, maybe not right now since you seem to be studying-“

He’s cut off by a wave of Eric’s hand. “Please. I’m getting nothing done anyway. But didn’t you say you were checking in on Ransom?”

The reminder almost startles Holster, who stands up quickly. “Right!” He winces when he realizes how loud his exclamation was. “Right,” he whispers instead, “yeah I’m gonna go bring this over to him. I’ll meet you back here?”

Eric nods and shoos Holster away. He packs up his bag, work definitely not done but he wasn’t doing it anyway, and fidgets on his phone as he waits for Holster to return. He answers a few comments on his latest vlog, agreeing that his interaction with the hockey team was definitely unconventional. His followers seem to like the story though, and some are prompting him to keep them updated on what happens next. He didn’t really think he would have anything to tell them, but now that he was going back over to the Haus he might be able fulfill their wishes.

Holster jogs back over to him after about fifteen minutes. “Sorry about the wait. He was a little worse off than usual. You ready?”

Eric stands and hefts his backpack over his shoulder. “As I’ll ever be. I will need to stop by my dorm and grab some supplies. You’re free to come, but if you’d rather just go back to the house that’s fine too. I once had to bring practically everything but the kitchen sink to cook and bake for a cousin’s graduation party, and I moved it all by myself because my cousin decided to have a dramatic melt down because the party wasn't going her way. Now that isn’t to say I was exactly the kindest baker that evening, but damn if I didn’t do it.”

Holster smiles as they walk together, Eric having to pick up his speed a bit to keep up with Holster’s ridiculously long legs. “Nah it’s chill. I can help you carry stuff over.”

Eric probably could have hauled his equipment and supplies to the Haus himself, he’d done it before, but he wouldn’t deny that it was nice having a D1 athlete carry most of it was nice. They chat as they walk to the Haus, or more Eric talks and Holster interjects sometimes. He talks mostly about where he’s from and his family, explaining where he learned how to cook and bake. When he gets to his dad he explains that he had been expected to go into football but had taken up figure skating when he was seven, which ultimately lead to him playing hockey when he moved. By the time they make it to the Haus Eric had almost gotten to the end of high school.

They dump everything on the kitchen table, Eric beginning to organize the mess to make sure he has everything he needs. Luckily he had grabbed some pecans to keep around for when he was a bit too lazy to go to the store but still wanted to bake. In the middle of moving his butter to the fridge (lord, if he was going to bake here he would have to ask if he could move some of this beer) Holster says he needs to go grab a few things from his room so he could study while he baked. He slips his headphones in and decides on Bang Bang instead of a Béyonce song, not quite ready to let the boys catch him belting his gay little heart out to Queen B. His hips bop to the beat slightly as he begins to measure out his ingredients.

Roughly fifteen minutes later Holster returns to Eric pulling the pie out of the oven. He stands in the doorway for a few moments, brows furrowed, before moving towards the table. “I thought pie took like… way longer to make. I remember my mom complaining about it around thanksgiving.”

Eric smiles, a cross between bashful and knowing. “Well, sometimes when I’m in kitchens, I just. Pies appear.” He sets it down on a cooling rack, shrugging and taking his oven mitts off. “Honestly I think this was one of my slower ones. I think my record might be three minutes when I got home after a stressful day of finals.”

Holster’s brows furrow further. “That… Shouldn’t be possible.”

The sound of the front door was accompanied by a very loud “BRAH,” slamming shortly after. Shitty makes his presence, thankfully very clothed this time, known as he throws his bag into the kitchen, following after it. “It smells better than a sweet grandmother’s sugar coated vagina in here.”

Eric stares at Shitty for a few moments, looking absolutely scandalized, before he finds his voice again, a hand over his heart. “I think I would have lived a better, healthier, and more fulfilled life if I had never heard those words put in that order and said about my pies.”

Shitty shrugs and smiles, sitting down at the table. “Still stands. Glad to see you here, by the way. Is the pie ready?”

Eric shakes his head, sitting down at the table as well. “Not yet, it needs to cool for an hour or so. I’m so glad though, y’all, this oven definitely works better than the one in the dorms. Heats evenly and at the right temperature.”

“Shitty Eric baked that pie in like, fifteen minutes. That shouldn’t be possible, right?”

“Woah Bittle, what the fuck-“

Ransom appears in the doorway looking a little bleary with his shirt winkled like he just got up. “It smells like my aunts house in here. Except with like, more love and innocence.”

Holster motions for him to sit down. “Bro, I’ve been to your aunt’s house? And no offense, but compared to this, her house smells like a shit hole.”

Eric groans and rubs his face. “Can we stop comparing the smell of my pies to butts? I don’t know about y’all, but that isn’t exactly a compliment in my opinion.”

Holster leans into the table smirking. “I’ll have you know, Eric, that in this Haus being compared to a butt is the highest honor. Hockey butts are seen as something to strive for.”

Eric gives him a deadpan look. “I might not play on the team here, but I’ve played enough hockey to know when I’m being chirped, Holster.”

They sat talking back and forth long enough for the pie to cool enough to be cut. Eric sets aside two pieces, one for Jack and one for Johnson, before bringing the rest to the table. He then promptly watches the pie get desecrated by the three boys. He has a hand over his heart for a solid three minutes as he listened to them openly moan around their forks.

“Eric holy fucking shit this is so good.”

“Seriously? I didn’t even know pie could taste this good. And I fucking love pie.”

“I’m sorry for comparing this to a butt, I feel like I committed a cardinal sin.”

Not one of them swallowed before speaking.

Satisfied with the results and pushing down the disgust of watching the boys practically shovel his pastry into their mouths, Eric shakes his head and gets to cleaning the dishes in the sink. He hums to himself as he does, loosing himself in his own world while he methodically scrubs his equipment clean. He eventually turns around to find all three boys still at the table and no trace of pie left in the kitchen. He narrows his eyes at the two extra plates on the table. “Where did those slices of pie go?”

He receives three guilty looks and a few hesitant “Um’s” in response. Eric responds by placing his hands on his hips and narrowing his eyes further, which deepens the guilt in their faces.

Finally Shitty breaks. “We couldn’t help ourselves, brah. It was just too good.”

“Those were supposed to be for Johnson and Jack! This pie was supposed to be a trial for everyone in the Haus.” Eric scolds them, shaking his head. Holster scratches the back of his neck and Eric rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Well if y’all liked it that much I’m guessing they’ll have another time to try my pies.”

“Could that time be right now?” Ransom prompts, looking hopeful.

Eric gives him an incredulous look. “You’re still hungry?” He receives nods from all three men. “I don’t have any other fruit or nuts to use for filling, I’m sorry boys. These pecans were my last, I was gonna go shopping this weekend.” Six shoulders droop. “But, well, I suppose if one of you could help me get to a supermarket I could make y’all dinner? And if you’re sure I can use the kitchen, it wouldn’t hurt to start stocking up here so I don’t have to move butter between my mini fridge and here every time I want to bake.”

Shitty stands up, searching for where he threw his bag. “I can drive you over to the murder Stop & Shop. I can help pay for this round. Rans and Holtz, figure out a way we can help pitch in money for Eric to make us food. It’s not fair if he’s paying for this out of pocket.”

“Shitty you really don’t have to-“ Eric goes to protest, but is cut off by Shitty wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him out the door.

“Dude, do you really wanna pay for every supermarket run you go on to cook for us? A house of five college athletes? Because I’m pretty sure we’d run you dry faster than we’d eat your food.”

Eric pauses then shrugs. “I suppose you’re right. Just as long as you aren’t paying me. I’m getting my payment in using your kitchen.”

They climb into his car, a tan sedan that smells like weed with at least four bags of McDonalds scattered around the backseat. They chat as they drive, not really saying much of anything. Eric makes a list of everything he can think of that he needs or wants to stock up on in the Haus. When they get there Shitty pushes the cart and follows Eric as he flits around the aisles, chattering about how he “hates not knowing where everything is. I know my market back home better than I know the back of my own hand.”

It doesn’t take too long and soon enough they’re in line to check out. Eric scans over the magazines next to them, not really interested but needing something to do. Shitty follows his line of sight to an cover page screaming about a supposed celebrity break up. “You got a girlfriend?” He asks, reaching up to scratch his cheek.

Eric’s brow furrows for a moment as he looks up at Shitty before he breaks into a smile and a small laugh. “Oh lord, me? Not my gay ass.”

Shitty’s hand stills. “Oh, shit, brah, I didn’t mean to assume…”

Eric only waves his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it, I’m used to it living in the south.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay, Eric.”

Eric’s lips purse slightly and he fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Shitty, you’re preaching to the devoted choir. But it still happens and it’s a reality I have to live with.” His eyes rest on the boxes of butter in the cart, voice steady. “There’s a reason I choose Samwell. Down in Georgia being gay is a big deal. I came here so it wouldn’t be.”

They pay, load up the car, and drive home. It’s mostly quiet save for some small talk, and Eric can practically feel the guilt radiating off Shitty. He does his absolute best to resist rolling his eyes. He really, really tries. They make it back to the Haus without incident and Ransom and Holster help them carry in the bags. 

Over the next few hours Eric gets the boys to make room for his supplies in the kitchen. It’s impressive, really. He thought he was ridiculous commandeering the kitchen the week prior, but now he was commandeering half a fridge, two cabinets, and three frat bros. Eric briefly wonders if he could put it on his resume as “leadership skills.” He’s able to start prepping dinner around four, which leaves him with enough time to marinate the chicken and still have dinner on by seven. He lets the boys know, who then disappear to presumably do homework, though Eric heard Ransom chirping Holster about which season of 30 Rock he was going to try and binge watch in three hours this time.

While waiting for the chicken to marinate and after prepping the vegetables for roasting he leans against the counter, looking around the kitchen. In a way it would technically be his new home. It’s where he would spend his spare time, where he would go when he’s procrastinating, where he might study while waiting for a pie to bake. Would he be able to make a home out of a frat house? Could he feel at home with the people living in it? He sighs and smooths his hair, chewing the inside of his bottom lip. He knows he’s over thinking it. The boys were letting him use the kitchen because they were expecting food out of it. And Eric is a good cook and baker, so he shouldn’t worry about whether or not he’s wanted; as long as he can make a good meal or pie he’s sure he would be welcome around the house.

And he knows it’s ridiculous to think, he knows it’s outlandish to even consider it, but what if he looses his touch? What if for some reason he can’t bake or cook anymore? Would he still be welcome in the place that could potentially feel like his second home? Or would he be kicked to the curb once he stops producing? He doesn’t even know these people. Should he let himself get attached, become friends with them, or stay distant, only cooking for them but otherwise staying out of their hair? The latter sounds slightly better in the moment. Mens sports tend to be inherently homophobic, even in the most liberal cases. He knows now that Shitty is accepting, but what about everyone else? It would be easier to stay detached, just in case.

Shaking his head and taking a breath, he moves away from the counter. That’s enough overthinking for the day. He decides to make pie crust that he can let chill in the fridge overnight. He bought some lemons at the market and he can make a lemon meringue tomorrow, hopefully give Jack and Johnson a chance to try his pies. As he gets in the known motions of making crust, he thinks of other pastries he wants to make, what other flavors he should try out to see what the boys like. As he watches the fork slice into the butter, cutting it into the flour, he lets out a small breath. Better. This mindset is better. Think about baking, Bittle. That’s something you’re good at.

He sends out a text to the group chat Shitty created, quickly receiving emojis back and hearing rustling throughout the Haus. The boys show up within a few minutes, Eric still plating and putting out the food. As soon as it’s on the table it’s on their plates, shoved in their mouths and spoken around.

“Shif Erif thif if really goof.” Says Shitty, trying to speak around a forkful as he puts it in his mouth. The other boys nod in agreement, or at least most of them. Jack seems to be too engrossed at staring at his plate as he eats. Eric feels slightly uneasy. He knows it might just be because Jack isn’t a people person, but the way he basically… doesn’t acknowledge Eric makes him feel like there’s more there. Like h actively doesn’t want him around. Which, Eric shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, is probably Eric overthinking again. 

The boys are nothing if not complimentary to Eric’s cooking by the time they finished eating, making him blush slightly. Johnson puts the hat he had taken off at the beginning of the meal on backwards, leaning on the table, akin to the way he did the week before. “So, I already know the outcome of this since I’m only here to progress the plot, but raise your hands if you think Eric should continue to use the kitchen.” Most hands, again sans Jack, quickly go up. Eric notices Shitty elbow Jack in the ribs, who then halfheartedly raises his hand. “Well, it’s unanimous then.” Johnson states, smiling at Eric. “This kitchen is yours to use however you please, at any time you please.” He rests a hand over Eric’s shoulder, making Eric feel like he’s both red as a tomato and glowing fro the praise. He looks up to Johnson just as the goalie seems to get a glint in his eye. “It’s almost like you’re part of the team now, Bittle.”

Shitty leans into the table towards Eric, smiling wide. “Brah! We should totally give you a hockey name! Since you’re like, honorary team member now. Official Team Baker. The Great Chef Who Feeds The Team.” He looks around to the other boys for support. Ransom and Holster practically have stars in their eyes, and Jack seems frankly uninterested.

“YES!” Ransom and Holster shout together, smacking at each other’s arms.

Eric is pushed into a whirlwind of the three practically shouting back and forth at each other, Johnson sitting back with a smug look on his face as Jack slinks away unnoticed by the rest. Finally they turn on Eric, who had gotten a little lost in the whole thing and lost track of who was saying what.

“Bitty.”

Eric looks at all of them deadpan. “Is this because I’m shorter than y’all.”

He send them howling, smacking the table. “Fuck dude that delivery was priceless. Fucking Bitty, man.” Holster states, wiping his eyes.

“Fucking Bitty.” Ransom shakes his head, picking up his white snapback from where it fell off when he threw his head back in laughter.

“Fucking Bitty indeed, men. Welcome to the team, brah.” Shitty smiles, smacking Eric on the shoulder, making him flinch just as before.

Eric hadn’t expected to still be involved with Hockey when he decided on Samwell. He expected to attend a few games, maybe, keep up with the team if they made it to the final four. But now he had a hockey name again and was “officially” a part of the team. Maybe getting attached wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Weird how things work out like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rumor Come Out: Does Eric Bittle Is Pie? The answer? Yes. More food at 7.
> 
> Whooaaaaahhhh that was a lot!! I mean not a ton, obviously, but almost 4k words! I was expecting this chapter to hit around 3k. But! Bitty bonding with the team in important! And an important step for him for this AU.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Hopefully I will have the next chapter up within the week. Remember to shoot me a comment or throw some kudos my way if you liked it and wanna see where it goes, your contributions are what keep me motivated!
> 
> In the next installment: Just a bit(ty) of skating.
> 
> Want to send me a prompt, talk about this fic, or chat with me in general? Find me at [Dexthecryptid](http://dexthecryptid.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	3. In Which Eric Bittle Goes Skating

After the first pie and dinner Eric is in the Haus almost every day. Even if he’s bogged down with readings and work he finds himself at the table with a pastry in the oven. He’s begun to figure out the team’s favorite flavors are. So far he’s got Holster down after he watched the d-man almost start crying when Eric said there was a blueberry crumble in the oven. Ransom did explain that Holster had a rough day to begin with, but Eric knows a favorite pie reaction when he sees one. He’s just glad he was able to comfort him with the crumble when he was feeling so bad. 

Ransom’s is honey peach, figured out after Eric had complained about not having any fresh peaches, even if it was off season. He had settled for store-bought but complained while he was prepping them. Ransom had hung around the entire time, surprisingly handling Eric’s rambling well. Eric quickly realized why when Ransom hovered around the fresh-out-of-the-oven pie while it was cooling, having to be practically pushed away to make sure he didn’t burn himself on it for a preemptive slice.

Shitty just straight up told him to make him a strawberry cream because “I have a twenty page paper due tomorrow night and I barely have an outline done.” He then proceeded to wantonly moan while he ate it, completely hogging it to himself while staring at his word document and notes splayed around the table.

Johnson likes apple best. Eric isn’t even exactly sure how he knew, but he did. Johnson also laughed and made a comment about some religious book when Eric gave him a slice, something about apple pie being the most metaphysical pie according to it. That boy confuses the hell out of him, but he takes solace in the fact that it doesn’t seem like anyone else understands.

The only one Bitty can’t figure out is Jack. They still haven’t had a conversation and Eric could probably count the words exchanged between them on one hand. He still can’t tell if Jack doesn’t like him or if he’s just stand offish. He doesn’t seem to necessarily actively avoid him, but he doesn’t seem to want to be around him either. He’ll stop in the kitchen if theres someone else there he needs to talk to, but he won’t stop in if it’s just Eric. Eric hasn’t even seen him eat a slice of one of his pies. The only suspicion that he has is from missing slices, but it could be anyone. 

Eric wouldn’t say he’s offended. It’s not quite that. And it’s not quite sadness either. It’s mostly… confusion with dashes of the former. He’s made friends with the rest of the Haus. Does Jack just not want him there? Was it a mistake intruding on his space.

He purses his lips as he continues to roll out a pie crust. But this wasn’t just Jack’s Haus- or, house, rather. He might be the captain, but there are four other boys that live there. And those four other boys have taken to Eric rather well, if he did say so himself. They seem to like having him in the kitchen and have even invited him to play video games with them, shoving a beer in his hand as he waits for a pie to bake or cool. They seem to genuinely want him around. Does Jack hate him? Is he just indifferent? 

He’s pulled from his thoughts by Shitty entering the kitchen. “Shit brah, why the sour face?”

Eric sighs. “Just thinking.” He rolls the pie crust onto the rolling pin to transfer it to the pie plate, pausing instead of picking it up. He stares at it for a moment before asking, “Does Jack not want me here?”

Shitty is silent. Eric looks up. He’s looking away and lips are pursed. “Look, Bitty.” He starts, and Eric does not like the sound of that. Shitty sits on the edge of the table. “Jack like… He’s complicated? It’s a little hard to explain. He’s got some serious anxiety issues, and he’s kind of a hockey robot. He’s not so great at social situations, but really good at hockey. He can talk your ear off about this history of the NHL, but making small talk isn’t really his forte. At all.”

Eric nods, digesting the information. Which, he should have been able to deduce himself really, but still. He swallows. “So… That doesn’t answer my question.”

Shitty shrugs. “I’m not really sure. He hasn’t said anything to me about it, and I’m his best friend.” He watches Eric for a moment before smiling and getting up to place a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll either warm up to you after a while, or you won’t have to worry about him.”

“So,” Eric starts, trying to clarify. “He’s just… indifferent to me?”

Shitty nods and leans against the counter. “I’d say thats the most likely bet. I’ve seen him when he… really doesn’t like a person. It’s not pretty. He can be really nasty.”

Eric nods. “I’ll do my best not to get on his bad side then.”

That night at dinner the subject of Eric’s hockey career arose again. They finally got it out of him that he had been captain of his team senior year. They talked stats and about Eric’s team and how he worked with them. Eric dodged a question about not playing in college gracefully. 

But Eric let out a laugh, waving his hand, smiling wide. “Lord, all this talk about hockey and y’all never bring up the fact that I was a competitive figure skater too!”

Ransom smiles as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Honestly Bitty, I’d love to see you on ice. Regardless of what you’re doing. Like, hockey? I know Shitty bugged you into showing him your tapes and he says you’re damn fast.” Shitty nods vigorously, mouth full and not rudely talking with it so, for once. “And from what I’ve dug up with your figure skating-“ Eric gapes, wanting to ask how Ransom found him but is barreled over, “-you look like you’d be a dream to watch on ice.”

Eric rolls his eyes and lets out a bashful huff of air, running a hand through his hair. “Now I don’t know anything about being a dream, Ransom, but…” He pauses, thinking. “Well I don’t even have my skates up here with me.”

Holster glances at Ransom before shrugging. “Could you have them sent up?”

Eric furrows his brows. “Well, I suppose I could, but-“

“You should totally have them sent up, brah.”

“Well the shipping would be pretty expensive.”

“Bro, you’ve made us dinner almost every night for the past week and a half. If you need one of us to foot the bill to get your skates up here, we can do that.”

“That’s way too much to ask of you, Holster.”

Johnson speaks up from the end of the table, his voice a presence that draws all eyes towards it. “They’re asking you to skate with them, Bitty.”

Eric looks around at the boys wildly, eyebrows knit up in a bunch. “I- Well. I can’t say I was expecting anything like this well… ever.” He clears his throat. “I mean I- I wouldn’t mind getting back on the ice. I haven’t really thought about it being that I’m all kinds of busy with school and baking and cooking for you guys and well, lord I didn’t even think I’d be seeing the ice aside from going to your games, thats why I didn’t bring my skate up here in the first place-“

He’s quieted by a hand on his shoulder and a smile behind a mustache. “Bitty, go call your mom and ask her to send them up.”

Eric suppresses a squeak and nods, moving to the living room while dialing. 

“Hey mama. Yes, I’m doing well. Well, before you get going on about that, remember how I decided not bring my skates? Yeah, and how the hockey boys are letting me use their kitchen? Well…”

About a half hour later, which is much shorter than the call could have been, Eric returns smiling and practically bouncing. “She’s gonna be spending them up tomorrow, both my hockey and figure skates the dear, and at most it should only take a week to get here. Are y’all sure though? I don’t wanna intrude, especially if you’re planning on having me skate with you during a practice or on your free time or anything like that.”

Holster smiles. “Bro, I haven’t played a game of pickup in forever.” Ransom nods in agreement.

Shitty loops an arm around Eric’s shoulder and pulls him in. “Bitty, look, we want to. I promise. Even if you’re absolutely shitty at it, it’ll be fun.”

Eric can feel the blush rising on his cheeks and brings his hands up to hide it. “Oh, lord. You’re to good to me. All of you.”

The boys bring their dishes to the sink for Johnson to wash, the sweetheart offered to do it because it “would give him a little extra time in the narrative, and it’s a nice thing to do for the main character, especially since it would free up a little bit of time for him to interact with everyone else,” whatever… that meant.

Eric bites his lip as he watches Jack hand over his dish and go to head out of the kitchen. He swallows before speaking. “Jack!” He tries his best to bleed sunshine into his voice, but he can hear the nervousness behind it. Jack turns and furrows his brows, staring Eric down with those wolf eyes. “Uh, how did you like dinner tonight?”

Jack takes a few moments before replying with “You need to cook more protein,” then promptly leaves.

The only thing running through Eric’s mind were the flashing words “Bitch you did not.” He’s sure his face reflects it.

Johnson chuckles in the background.

Eric’s skates arrive six days later. He immediately calls his mom, chatting with her for an hour and a half as he tries them on again, carefully clomping around his dorm room with the guards on, getting used to the feeling of being in skates again. Well. Getting used to being a relative term. He’d only been out of them for half a year, really, and it’s like riding a bicycle after being a competitive biker. It almost feels more natural to be in them.

Once he gets off the phone with his mother he texts the group and they arrange for Eric to skate with them after practice on Friday. He’s giddy to say the least. He doesn’t even think to contest skating after practice; that they would be too tired after practice like he usually does. All he could think about is getting back on the ice, feeling free as he glides over it. 

He looks between the two skates. On one hand he could wear his figure skates and show off his speed, work through jumps and spins for the sake of doing them again. On the other hand he could wear his hockey skate and possibly play a round with the boys, and he still pretty fast in them. He sits, looking between them on his desk with his chin in his hands before putting his figure skates in his closet. If he’s able to stick around, if they let him skate more, he can bring them out. Or maybe go to a free skate. Leveling the playing field, or well, ice rink by being in hockey skates with the boys feels like the right way to go.

The rink is unfamiliar. New. It has all the attributes he’s used to, but everything is a little different. Eric has to guess which door to enter through, which halls to take, and their vaguely familiar but different enough to make him second guess himself. He finds his way to the bench after a few minutes of being lost in the back. He feels awkward, the boys are still finishing up practice and the coaches gave him a look across the rink before they called Jack over to them. He seemed to explain why Eric was there and he was ignored for the last fifteen minutes while the boys ran drills.

He didn’t put his skates on yet. He wanted to make sure the boys still wanted to skate with him after. It’s possible they had a hard practice that day, or that they were tired, or that they had other things they wanted to do. Or that they just didn’t want to hang around after practice. Eric knew what it was like to want to just get home after, he wouldn’t blame them at all for not wanting to hang around. The coaches also might not want Eric on the ice, which is also fine, it wasn’t like he had reserved a spot. He was just going off of what the boys said would be alright. 

He’s chewing his bottom lip when practice ends. Most of the team heads off the ice and Eric feels particularly awkward. How has he only ever met five people out of the whole team? This was ridiculous. This was absolutely ridiculous and he shouldn’t even be here. He should just leave and maybe go bake a pie to take his mind off of the situation.

Instead Shitty, Ransom, and Holster skate over to him, obviously excited. Jack continues to shoot pucks at Johnson behind them. 

“Bro, get your skates on! What’re you waiting for?” Holster asks, taking off a glove and his helmet to run a hand through his sweaty hair. 

Eric smiles. He was being ridiculous. Though, leave it to him to lose himself in his thoughts. If his mouth isn’t running then his brain is. They skate off as he laces up. The string bites at his fingers slightly. It’s been a while. Once tied he shrugs off his jacket and steps onto the ice.

It’s not smooth, the boys had been skating on it, but lord does Eric glide. He steps on and lets himself drift a few feet, meeting the ice for a third time in his life. Twice he thought he’d have to give it up. Now three times it introduced itself to him again. An old friend that sometimes leaves but always comes back.

The boys were housing around with each other and Eric allows himself a few laps around the rink. Slow at first, letting himself remember the feeling, then faster the second time. He almost wishes he had worn his figure skates. He has the urge to do a jump, realizing how much he misses the feeling of flying and landing. He’d done jumps in his hockey skates before and while it wasn’t necessarily comfortable to do, he could do it. And well… A double salchow wouldn’t hurt, would it?

He gains a bit of speed before throwing himself into the air, spinning twice before landing, one leg thrown out to balance as he glides backwards, heart pounding with adrenaline and pride in himself for being able to still do it. The boys behind him let out a few whoops and claps that bring a smile and blush to Eric’s face. He remembers landing triple salchows when he was competitive as well as other jumps that required the toe picks of his other skates. And he does miss it. He misses figure skating. But now, he also misses hockey.

He skates backwards to where the boys had grouped up, coming to stop with a small flurry of snow. 

“Brah,” Shitty starts, wiping a fake tear from his eye with his other hand over his heart. “I’ve never seen something so beautiful.”

Eric gives him a deadpan look, hands coming to rest on his hips. “You not only said that about the banana muffins I made earlier this week, but also about a shot you took while you and Holster were practicing beer pong.”

Shitty smiles, shrugging. “All true though. And I mean shit, that was in hockey skates. I can’t even imagine you in figure skates. It’s gotta be downright legendary.”

Eric rolls his eyes. “It’s alright. Now what did you boys have planned for today?”

Holster smiles wide. “A game of shinny, except with goalies. Shitty said he wanted to grab the extra pads from the back. Since we have an even number of people we can do two on two. And, to be fair, you’ll be on my team and Johnson in the goal. Shitty will take the other goal with Jack and Ransom. A pretty even spread, a forward and d-man on each team, plus with Shitty in the goal they’ll have a disadvantage.”

“Excuse me, I happen to be a relatively decent goalie.”

“Shitty I don’t think I’ve seen you in the net, like, ever.”

“Well that’s just because I haven’t needed to BE there, Ransom, thank you very much-“

“I don’t need a disadvantage.”

Eric’s voice effectively quiets the group for a few moments before Holster roughly wraps an arm around his shoulders to shake him. “Fuck yeah, Bitty coming in with the confidence! You guys are fucking going down.” 

The rest of the boys cheer, and even Jack seems amicable about the idea. Eric can’t fight the fear rising from him stomach though. He licks his lips before looking around at the group. “No checks though, right?”

Eric watches as Jack rolls his eyes. “You don’t have pads on. Of course there isn’t going to be checking.”

Eric feels a mix of embarrassment and annoyance from Jacks words. He didn’t have to be so mean about it. He was just looking out for himself. Just making sure. 

The game goes well. There are a few good natured checks but they were never aimed at Eric, even if watching them happen made his heart rate pick up. Shitty blocked a few pucks but missed most, earning a lot of chirping from everyone on ice. Eric was definitely the fastest on ice, able to rush past even Jack to break away and shoot on Shitty. He can tell the rest of the boys are impressed, noticing the nudges between Ransom and Holster and how Shitty exclaims every time Eric rushes towards him. Even Jack seems to appreciate it, visibly preparing himself more as they get further into the game.

In the end Jack’s team still wins. Holster complains that it’s only because Jack practices with Johnson and knows all his moves. Ransom retorts that if he’s going by that logic, Johnson also knows all of Jack’s moves. Shitty chimes in complaining that the goalie pads gave him “mad blisters,” resulting in chirps about his arrogance earlier.

Eric can tell the boys look tired. Of course they would be, they just played an extra game of hockey on top of practice. But on top of tired they look happy. They easily encompass him in the conversation, allowing him to follow them into the locker room after grabbing his shoes from the bench. Jack even chirps him when he complains about already feeling the workout. By the time they leave Faber Eric needs to rush to class, but not before Shitty makes him promise to make peanut butter cookies later that day.

As Eric hurries across campus, his skates in tow since he doesn’t have time to drop by his dorm, he feels warm. He was able to get back on the ice. He was able to get back on the ice with friends. He sits down in his class, a few minutes to spare with his breath heavy and a light sweat on his forehead. Waiting for the class to start he realizes he’s starting to feel settled. Samwell was actually starting to feel like home, a little bit at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well at least I kept one promise, there was only a bit(ty) of skating this chapter!
> 
> Sorry this is later than I had said it was going to be! School piled up and any semblance of executive functioning hopped a plane to Hawaii and left me for dead for the past couple weeks.
> 
> That being said! This chapter brings the fic up to about 9.1k, and it's nowhere near done. I have a LOT I want to cover, and I can see this easily getting up around 20k (i don't wanna jinx myself but... maybe more?). With the next chapter installment it will become the longest piece of writing I've ever done! I'm happy it's this, because I really, really love it and am really passionate about getting the story out there.
> 
> In the next installment: Coach Check! (........ this is supposed to be a pun on coat check)
> 
> Want to send me a prompt, talk about this fic, or chat with me in general? Find me at [ Dexthecryptid ](http://dexthecryptid.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


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